The joy of Now

     I remember having a bad day back in 2004. It’s not the only bad day I ever had, but it was such a lousy day that I remember how crappy it was. It had a long lasting effect on my. Months after I would look back on it and worry that there would be worse days than that ahead in my life. What is there are days to come that will be worse than that? I’ve lucked out so far.

     Last Wednesday was a good day. We went to Sea World in San Diego. The kids woke up with no problem and were in the van ready to leave when it was time. We had a good drive down. I took quick alternate route around bad freeway traffic. I hit all green lights on the surface streets and unquestionably saved time. I had a good playlist picked out. The drive down through Temecula and across the county line was beautiful as usual and we got to Sea World on time to meet our group and get in.

     Sea World was a blast as always. We rode our favorite rides, saw our favorite shows, and ate a good lunch that we had packed and brought. The weather was cool, but sunny. Everyone had a good time. The kids had a good time and there were no meltdowns or difficulties. We left the park just before closing. I got a little turned around looking for where we always get supper but after a few corrective turns we found the In-N-Out Burger. After that the drive home was easy and pleasant.

     Everyone had had a great day. Nathaniel said his favorite part was the breakfast sandwich I had made him. The day had been almost flawless. I ought to have been joyous after it. I was happy, but there was still an uneasy feeling from the day.

     It has to be a terribly unhealthy attitude to have. But after such a good day, the nagging feeling inside of me was this: What if I never have another day this good again?

     After a bad day, my worry was that it wouldn’t be the worst ever. After a great day, my worry was that it would be the best. I think that this is what drives me to not want to do anything sometimes. If I just stay on the level status quo, no highs or lows then there will be no worries.

     No highs and no lows. No highs seems like a terrible price to pay for no lows. I don’t know if it’s worth it. I do know it feels wrong.

     We rode the Journey to Atlantis that day. It’s a fun, wet roller coaster ride. The first time we all rode together. When the day was almost over Jamie and I rode it once more together. I couldn’t help but think of a day at Sea World about 6 years ago. Jamie was too young to go on the ride and stood by and waited to watch the older kids and I ride by. Every roller coaster car that roared past splashed Jamie abundantly. He loved it. Prajna captured images of him standing in anticipation, getting soaked and laughing afterwards. And the photographs capture something. Pure joy. 

     Here is a face of someone who may or may not have had a terrible day the day before. But in just this moment, nothing in the world is greater than the sunshine and the splash of a passing roller coaster car. Who cares if tomorrow will be bad? This is now and now is good.

     I would like to live in the moment more, but here I am at this moment, reflecting back a week, 6 years and even 8 years. A lot of my blog goes on about the past. Nostalgia is one thing, but fixation on the past is another.

     The truth is that I don’t live in the moment. I constantly analyze the past and mull over the future.

     Now it’s a Sunday afternoon and I’m composing this first draft. I have a kitten curled up asleep on my lap and Roy Orbison on my headphones. I’m writing with good music and a cat. That’s good. I think I should be reveling in this with the same joy Jamie had being splashed. Of course if I leapt to my feet in celebration right now I would upset the cat and possibly my laptop that the headphones are plugged into. I don’t have to be whooping it up. But I can at least acknowledge that there are good days all around and I ought to look out for them and be thankful.

     I would like to recognize that most moments I’m existing in are alright, even pleasant.

     The cat just looked at me and jumped off my lap. I’m not totally devastated because I can finally stretch my legs. Things are still good.

A grasp on what's Past

     One of the birthday cards I got was handmade, from Nathaniel. He had taped a quarter on the inside of it along with a picture of him and me holding hands. It’s terribly cute. It reminded me that several years ago Benjamin gave me a card, handmade in crayon. Inside of it he had taped several coins totaling perhaps 40 or 50 cents. And the thing is that if I looked through my stuff long enough, I would find it. The money would still be taped inside it.

     My writing space, the shelves in my room, and even in my truck there are stored items, treasures by my definition. Garbage and/or junk by most other standards. I can’t seem to let go of a lot of things. I tend to attach a memory to an object and then grow the irrational fear that getting rid of this object will cause me to lose something else as well. If I were to throw this away, I could lose the memory. I might be throwing away the love that this gift was given with.

     Sometimes it’s not just in the middle of the night that irrational thoughts seem sound and sane. Sometimes, if held onto long enough, they become canon.

     When I was 8 years old and moved from Arizona to Hawaii, my parents didn’t have trouble convincing me that the moving truck wouldn’t be able to fit all my stuff. I gave away some toys and actually threw away a big stack of car books, the kind one usually got from dealers. As I settled into my new home in Hawaii I had a good-sized bedroom all to myself. I also had a developing resentment that things were not as good here as they had been there. I longed for my life back in Arizona. Maybe that’s when I started to have trouble throwing things away. I realized that it was an unusual habit. But I was never inconvenienced by it until I had to move. The first real shock came when we had to leave Hungary after living there two years. We could only pack what we could check through on the flight home. I couldn’t pack the sword I bought and I didn’t even have room for the Russian gas mask.

I was sad to leave them behind in the apartment for the next occupant to enjoy. But I made sure I had room for other things. I packed a few pieces of a toy stroller that Naomi had. And I packed some broken parts of student’s desks from the school I had taught at. Those worthless items meant more than the sword or gas mask. They had pretty much no monetary value, but I made sure to keep them. Attached to them were memories of Naomi cheerfully pushing her stroller around our flat and teaching kids. I think I still have the items somewhere.

I don’t know what kind of person I would be if I lived in a mobile home with only a half dozen cats for company. I have only heard about a television show that showcases people like that so I don’t know much about people whose lives are severely affected by this disorder. If I had never married and had no family or friends, would I be one of those people? Maybe. I can easily imagine what I would be like and don’t even like to go there. But I was assessing the inventory of my life as I tend to do this time of year. When Nathaniel gave me that card with the quarter I remembered right away that I still have some lose change from a few years ago and I’m afraid to spend it.

So maybe I’ll look for that old card and break off the coins. One thing to do would be to add the quarter from Nathaniel to it, take it to the 99 Cent store and buy a candy bar for 49 cents. But the really brave thing would be different. I don’t know if I could bring myself to do it. But I could empty the change into my container of lose change and mix it all up. I don’t know if I could go there. Maybe I should do that. Because if I bought a candy bar I would feel inclined to not throw away the wrapper.

So my drawers are crammed with homemade birthday cars from my kids from over the years. There are toys on my writing space, some from my childhood and some recent gifts from my kids. I have bits and pieces from cars I’ve owned. Stepping back and looking at this habit from the outside it looks a little depraved. But to me it’s only attaching a memory to an object, even if it’s literally a piece of garbage like the disposable coffee cup that Prajna drank from during our road trip to Arizona where I saw the house I sat in years ago and threw away old treasures. This little foam coffee cup, worth nothing to the world, has a value to me I can’t quite understand. But it has a blend of memories. And there is a real concern inside me that if I were to drop that piece of garbage in the dumpster and never see it again, there would be an emptiness in my life.

There, I said it and that’s how it is. I know it’s not rational. Maybe it’s not healthy either. Maybe I should start with that handful of change. I could drop it in a donation box. It could be a start. We’ll see.

Silly Rabbit, that's Floor Cleaner

     It wasn’t The Rabbit’s fault. I take full responsibility. Although the sands of time can be blamed too, but blaming my age for my problems is tantamount to cursing the darkness. I should light a candle instead.

     I am getting older. I will be 46 in just a few days. Sure in Galapagos Tortoise years I am still pretty young. I the lives of a sequoia I am still an infant. But if I was a dog I’d be dead. And 46 in human years isn’t too bad if one keeps oneself healthy. I could have done better. Regardless of how old I am, I am beginning to feel some age. The vision in my left eye was something in the lines of 20/70. It’s astounding I even found The Walmart Vision Center that day to be examined. I’ve got a lot of grey hair and for some reason, hair coming off my ears more.

And I can’t eat the same way I used to. I can’t eat flautas like I wish I could. The fried tortillas screw with my digestive system and turn it to spackle. And the other night I had the chance to eat something from my past, Trix Cereal. I had a big bowl and experienced once again that joy the joy of cereal and milk. I made the mistake of looking at the ingredients and saw trisodium phosphate. I have used that to clean floors. That night I had a bellyache. The next day I ate another bowl and had an even worse bellyache that gave me bizarre dreams. I can’t imagine eating that stuff for breakfast. But I know I used to be able to eat a whole box of Trix and wash it down with beer and feel fine. That is when I was young and didn’t know what I would do with my life.

Long before I washed sugary cereal down with beer, I watched Saturday morning cartoons and the inevitable commercials that went with them. That poor Rabbit with his Sisyphean life never getting the Trix. And I have only recently realized the genius of those ads aimed at kids. The rabbit always lost, the kids always won. Eat this sugary concoction fortified with Na₃PO_4. It’s just part of a nutritious breakfast. As a kid I thought that mean eating only part of it meant you were good.

TV people know how to reach kids. They have to have studied a lot of child psychology to know how to do that. And that got me wondering, do college students start out thinking that they want to study child psychology so that they can entice kids to eat floor cleaner? Or do they begin all starry-eyed with hopes of improving the world, and somewhere along the line sell their souls?

Back to when I was eating beer and Froot Loops or Trix. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. But if you asked me, I would not have cared for a job that involved poisoning children. And here I am 20something years later with an intolerance for what I used to love and a box of trisodium phosphate on my shelf of supplies, about to turn 46, and still certain that I want to do good in the world.

It’s been a long stretch around the points of my conscious thoughts this time. From aging to cereal to floor cleaner to child psychology. I’m not sure I’ve made a point or just ranted along for 589 words.

Here is what I am sure of:

·         I am having a birthday and that is just part of what is making me feel older.

·         I am stunned by how brilliant television ads made me feel like I could be a winner if I was a kid.

·         I am not a kid any more.

·         I am not a loser for not being a kid. Kids with their iron guts can have Trix. I have a whole box of trisodium phosphate I can clean floors with and that will make me feel tons better. 

Lastly, trisodium phosphate is a legitimate food additive and not actually poisonous when used in the quantities deemed safe by the FDA. Please, no-one sue me for that.

Here’s to another year.

30 years of Meaning

     It was early on I thought that the meaning of life was simple enough to be found in song lyrics. Thanks to Harrison paying for Rhapsody Music service, I downloaded an album last Saturday that I had not heard in almost 30 years. I had “The Safety Dance” on an 80’s compilation. But the whole Men Without Hats album, Rhythm of Youth had not played in my head since I had listened to it on my first generation Walkman® almost 30 years ago. Sometimes I would just lie in bed on a warm afternoon listening and contemplating the lyrics. I thought they spoke to the world and to me about loneliness, regret, nuclear war, and the meaning of life.

This last Saturday I listened to the album again on my iPod, technology that would have been inconceivable in 1983. In 1983 I hoped that in 30 years I would be a famous actor/writer/director like Alan Alda. If anyone had told me I would be a janitor I would have been heartbroken. If they told me I would be married with kids I would have been incredulous. You could, however have told me that a meteor would slam into my hometown and level buildings and kill half the world population. I would have embraced the idea of aliens coming to Earth. By 1983 I was finally beginning to accept that I didn’t belong in outer space with them. But you could have come up to me in February 1983 a week or so before my 16^th birthday and told me that in 30 years, magnificent flying saucers would alight on Maui and approach me, apologize for taking so long and then let me fly a ship of my own home.

But God forbid you would have told me I worked for a church as a custodian, didn’t believe in aliens, and was married and had five children. And the most unbelievable thing of all that I would have vehemently denied, that I loved my life that way.

I’m listening to Rhythm of Youth as I write this right now. The B-sides never played on the radio have esoteric lyrics that made sense to me then, but not as much now. And maybe this is why: Back then, my imagination would conjure up meaning to fit things. I felt like I didn’t belong, so I must have been a displaced alien. Never mind that most teenagers feel like that sometimes and I was no exception. The reality was harder to accept. I was a teenager like thousands of others who had to cope with being an outsider. I wanted to be accepted but felt ashamed of wanting that. I wanted to be an actor, aloof and wealthy. People would like me then and I could choose whether or not to reciprocate.

So I lived outside of reality as much as I could. And as far as I was concerned, I would never enter into the real world. No, 1983 David, I know you won’t believe me, but in 30 years you will find utter joy in waking up early and feeding chickens. You will find fulfillment in being a husband and father. And you will own a mobile device not much bigger than a deck of playing cards that can play music, videos, and access just about any information in the world. You will use it to listen to actors just like you wish to be reading books. And you will listen to a digital version of this very music that you own on cassette tape. And here’s the thing 1983 David: you won’t care so much about the meaning of life. It is not a holy grail to be discovered.  If you could only trust God now, today… not make those bad choices later on…

Never mind, he’s not listening. He’ll go ahead and deny reality for another few decades. He will come around eventually.

The Hurt Club

     A rat trap is humane, but it still hurts. I don’t know if something was wrong with me not being able to set it properly or the trap was just faulty. I kept pulling the bar back and trying to set the rod in place. My fingers were getting greasy with peanut butter and I was having trouble focusing on the close-up view. I raised my head to look under my glasses and kept trying. I heard the crack and saw my right thumb beneath the bar. Then I felt the pain. The rat trap had closed on my thumbnail. I had just been considering that this trap would break someone’s finger. I didn’t think mine was broken.  I could still move it.

I took a break from work and soaked my thumb in some ice water. Yes, it hurt. But I reflected back to three other times I hurt my fingers and tentatively placed this at number four. When I got back to work I tried to set the trap again, but my dexterity as well as my nerve was completely gone. The next time the trap snapped shut I sprang backwards leaving my eyeglasses on the floor. I left it there on the floor and tried to go back to my normal work.

I couldn’t turn keys and my thumb was beginning to hurt more and more. I did something I had not done in years. I took the rest of the evening off as a sick day. Prajna fussed over my injury. She helped me bandage it and borrowed some miracle ointment that really did improve it. Nathaniel made me a get well sign. I spent evening watching classic Star Trek on Netflix and slept reasonably well. I wore the splint Prajna bought for me to work the next day and assured people that it didn’t hurt that much. And really, compared to the time I mashed two fingers with a sledgehammer head six years back, this was pretty minor.

Two days later I was vacuuming at work when I felt my phone vibrate. Prajna told me that Nathaniel had seriously cut his thumb. He had been cutting himself an orange and sliced his left thumb. We conferred over the best course of action. She was still a little jittery and Nathaniel was wrapped in a blanket. I asked to talk to him and she put him on.

I told Nathaniel that I was sorry that he cut himself. He didn’t seem to upset anymore. Then I told him that he and I were both in the hurt thumb club. He seemed to enjoy that realization. I asked him if maybe he could make a sign and membership cards and he liked the idea. He has not made anything yet, but we have a special handshake where we gently touch sore thumbs and make a little ding.

This morning Yucaipa and parts of southern California are reeling from a tragic bus crash just north of town. The fatality count is still growing. That in addition to the senseless violence in the news is heartbreaking. And sometimes my theology is shaken. I become confused as to if God allows bad things to happen and I think that I used to know the answer to this question and felt solid in my belief. But just like how the trauma of watching a rat trap snap on my finger killed my nerve, I lose my nerve sometimes in believing that God is in control.

I do however stand firm on this belief: God never wastes a hurt. When my youngest son was sitting on the couch, I don’t know how traumatized he was from seeing his thumb bleeding all over the place. But he was able to talk to someone who said, I know how that feels and you and I have a special kinship. I don’t think that God had Nathaniel’s injury in mind when the trap closed on my finger. I don’t know how His plans work. I was just grateful that I could be there for my son.

I just wanted to share what I am convinced of. God will never waste a hurt. And if that is true, God is indeed in control.

Nathaniel's get-well sign